


we draw our lines in the sand

by boarsnsmores



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Shenanigans, also character study, my excuse to write All The AUs, probably idk yet but it's a good bet knowing me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8936899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boarsnsmores/pseuds/boarsnsmores
Summary: Lena insists that Amélie fell in love first, because time doesn't actually pass when one's chronally displaced.Amélie insists the opposite, since moving through time and parallel universes non-linearly is still passing time.Winston has an opinion too, but wisely keeps it to himself.(Lena falls in love with a Amélie that could be from another universe before Amélie figures out what it means to be Amélie this time around)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this back in July, but resolved to finish my other disaster before working on this disaster. And then I was going to wait until I finished a few more chapters before I started posting because that sounded like a responsible fic-writing thing to do, but then that graveyard scene came out and now I have to write about it.
> 
> I'm headcanoning that if Tracer can be chronally disassociated, she can also be disassociated from her plane of existence too because I really just wanted an excuse to write a bunch of unrelated AUs.
> 
> Also, I'm here for Widowmaker moving forward and dealing with the ramifications of having been Widowmaker, as opposed to trying to return from it.

Talon rarely sends her on missions that involve teammates. More often, they send her on solo missions to assassinate, to steal, to spy. Today, she receives orders to _support_ , much to her muted distaste. There are other snipers better suited for that sort of menial work, but Widowmaker does not question her orders nor does she disobey them. This is her first indicator that this mission is of particular importance to Talon.

Her second indicator is the series of explosions that herald Overwatch’s arrival. They shake the buildings in the area and throw half of the useless mercenaries Talon’s hired and deployed. She does not have to look through her scope to know that Pharah has arrived but she quickly also makes out Zarya running through the other half of the ground team with Mercy behind her.

 _Absolutely useless_ she thinks and levels her scope at them, aiming for the exposed flesh of Zarya’s neck. She imagines her bullet tearing through throat and tendon, blood spilling out far too fast for Mercy to heal and right as she reaches for her trigger, right as she pulls back -

“Wha’cha looking at?” rings a voice, high and unfortunately familiar. At this distance, the slight jar throws her entire shot off and she watches as Zarya lives to ponder at the bullet lodged in the wall beside her. The flare of annoyance is brief and she quashes it before it can affect her ability to fight. She jerks her rifle backward and is not surprised when it does not connect.

Fighting Tracer is...an experience. No one else manages to evoke such aggrieved frustration in her, a boulder that gathers faster than she can grind it down. As fast as she is, Tracer is just as fast and sometimes faster. Tracer will take the finesse of her shot, singular and beautiful, and turn it into a brutish spray of the magazine.

She is force and momentum, forward motion diverting the flow of battle in her favor, but Tracer forces her to back on herself, against the flow of motion and then against the force of her momentum. Sideways, not forwards, if she wants to win. Fighting Tracer is to fight a battle three steps in advance but also three steps behind her and keep perfect time all the while.

It is an unacceptably messy, inefficient, breathtaking and heady affair.

No, no one else on Overwatch can compare to Tracer and if she thought her kills reminded her that she was alive, fighting Tracer reminds her that most days, she only exists.

She always knows when Tracer will blink. It feels like the moment before lightning strikes - static gathering in the air, a faint pull of energy trailing goosebumps on her arm.

Widowmaker sees it before it happens - Tracer will twist from this jump to face her and fire. She will not aim to kill, only to distract and provide cover as she blinks back to the rooftop. Then, they will continue this charade of theirs until Tracer cocks her head slightly to the left, to better hear the mission lead in her ear. This is the signal that Overwatch has done what they’ve come to do. Tracer will grin, cockily, cheekily, salute Widowmaker, and blink away into the cover of alleyways faster than Widowmaker can aim or fire.

Widowmaker will fire after her anyway. She does not expect to hit anything other than plaster, but tradition dictates that she fire anyway. She will inform Talon of Tracer’s departure and they will retrieve her.

Widowmaker pulls her rifle up, aims. She feels static gather, the goosebumps on her arm, a tug in the atmosphere, and she fires, waits for the pop of air and Tracer to her left.

Instead, the air stills. Time does not slow, but Widowmaker will recall the next moments with startlingly cold clarity. Tracer’s harness, in the time it takes Widowmaker’s rifle to fire its bullet, sputters exactly once. Its light does not have time to dim much more than a fraction and then it is extinguished, wires torn through and sparking.

And then, nothing.

There is no body that falls to the ground, no blood that seeps out and pools, no evidence that Widowmaker has shot someone save for a bullet she no longer has.

Widowmaker will later remember the sheer terror in Tracer’s eyes that spoke not of death, but of far worse things, how Tracer’s hands desperately grasped at the empty air for purchase that was not there, once, twice.

And then, nothing.

For now she simply intones, “Threat neutralized.” The battlefield is silent, as though it understands the gravity of her words.

But it is only the distance and Widowmaker sets up her rifle for her next shot, an emotion she no longer has a word for a stone in her stomach that does not ebb away.

* * *

Reaper is waiting for her when she boards the helicopter.

“When you said ‘threat neutralized’-” he starts to ask.

“Exactly that.” She snaps back, harsher than she should. Talon watches closely, but she knows Reaper won’t report this.

They are too alike in this for such a betrayal.

He watches her for too long. She wants to say something, anything, but can find no words either.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says, much to her surprise.

“For what?” She asks, but Reaper has already turned away to yell at the pilot.

* * *

There is no obituary in the papers. Widowmaker checks. There is no funeral either, but even if there were one, she doubts Overwatch would extend the invitation. And even if they did, it isn’t as if Widowmaker could mourn alongside them – she isn’t capable of such a thing anymore, and not for such a person.

Without such markers of finality, she can almost believe that Tracer were away on other missions and with no Tracer to distract her from her targets, Overwatch is forced to remember that Widowmaker is particularly lethal.

For two months, Widowmaker merely exists. It’s not until Ana nearly puts a bullet in her that she remembers how to breathe again. It isn’t much, but it’s more than she has now, even if it’s less than she had before.

Widowmaker goes on assignments and completes them with ease. Reaper watches her with eerie sharpness although he doesn’t approach her for anything other than their assignments. Life goes on. And she continues to exist.

* * *

_She’s going to be late. She’s never late. She flings herself down the stairs with little dignity and only fumbles the key to her car once. She blames that on the cold. Trying to figure out how fast she needs to drive and how many speed limits she will need to break in order to not be late, she pulls out of her space without looking._

_An “Oi!” interrupts her thoughts, then the thudding of what is probably a human body on her car. She curses. This isn’t what she needs right now._

_Putting the car in neutral she gets out to see what’s happened. There’s a girl crouched next to her car, only looking somewhat shaken. She breathes a sigh of relief – at least she’s not going to jail for manslaughter._

_She’ll definitely be late now though. The girl looks fine and no worse for the wear, so she makes to get back in her car._

“ _Hey! Aren’t you even going to say sorry?” The girl asks her indignantly._

_She pauses, halfway into her seat. “Are you injured?” She asks._

“ _No, but I could have been! And you should apologize for nearly hitting me with your car anyway!” The girl says._

“ _Maybe you shouldn’t put yourself in the path of moving vehicles.” She retorts before getting in and closing the door. The girl is still looking at her with stark indignation on her face when she pulls out of the parking lot._

* * *

“ _Late, Lacroix.” The professor reprimands with a tsk-ing sound._

“ _My apologies, professor.” She says, “I had a minor altercation in the parking lot this morning.”_

“ _Leave earlier next time. Everyone’s already partnered up. Go find a group and get caught up.” He waves her off._

_She picks a pair comprised of two students who won’t stop raising their hands. They’ve just barely finished explaining the assignment when the door bursts open._

“ _Sorry! Sorry! Kerfuffle in the parking lot this morning!” an unfortunately familiar voice yells breathlessly._

“ _No excuses, Oxton!” the professor barks, “Especially if you’re going to copy someone else’s.”_

_She can imagine the confused look on the girl’s face and refuses to turn around to confirm it. Unfortunately-_

“ _Lacroix! Partner up with Oxton. Get her caught up. You’re working together on this assignment.”_

_Were she a lesser person, she would groan aloud. Because she is not, she only groans internally. She sighs, steeling herself for the inevitable affronted recognition before she turns around._

“ _Hey!” The girl says as she bounces up the steps, “Sorry I’m late! I’m Lena an-You!”_

_And there it is. “Amélie.” She responds, “Do stop gaping. We have a lot of work to do.”_

_Lena does not stop gaping._

* * *

Widowmaker wakes up from a memory. No, not a memory, just a dream. Albeit one real enough that it seems like it could have been another lifetime. She tries to blink it away – she hasn’t dreamt for so long, nothing she can remember at least. It almost unsettles her.

She’s about to fall asleep again when-

“I can’t believe you nearly ran me over!”

She’s out of her bed in an instant, gun out in front of her ready to shoot-

Tracer. Standing there. No, floating there? Hands out, palms up, complete with a sheepish grin.

“Uh. Hi?” She says.

Widowmaker fires.

**Author's Note:**

> I asked my friend for a prompt and she gave me "I’m running late to school and you just hit me with your motorcycle cause you’re also late and no I don’t want to go to the hospital instead because I cannot miss this test just please give me a ride instead?" to which I say "eh close enough."
> 
> If you have an AU you want to see you should let me know.


End file.
